Borderlines

I’ve grown accustomed to this mesmerising landscape with its vast skies, deep green valleys and alluring light at the border of Wales, and now it’s nearly time for us to leave. The soft pink light fades quickly to dusk; the valley resonates with gentle bird chatter and then settles into silence as another day ends in this country idyll far away from home.

Tomorrow we’ll be back in the city, returning with strange discontinuity to the routines and stresses of our other, urban life. But for now I’m at the edge of this dream world, watching the night envelop the valley, prolonging the idyll.

The Country Diary of an Insomniac Londoner

Retire to bed shortly after midnight.

At 1am, my over-stimulated mind is still wide awake, straining to pick up the pattern of late-night footsteps and stray bits of conversation outside.

At 2am, nothing moving save the odd car.

At 3am, black silence, broken only by the quarterly chiming of the church bells solemnly charting the progress of my insomnia. I feel suffocated by the circularity of my thoughts in the darkness.

At 4am sharp, entry of the dawn chorus.

The birds’ joyous polyphony is strangely soothing, and I shift my focus to the individual song-lines, registering sounds unfamiliar to the Londoner’s ear. Slowly, dozily, fuzzy sleep arrives.

Cheery morning is there all too soon, announced by those unforgiving chiming bells.